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Acoms Razor. The simplest explanation tends to the correct one. Not… - I sharpen my teeth with my tongue
Tue, Dec. 7th, 2004 03:09 am
Acoms Razor. The simplest explanation tends to the correct one.

Not only have I completely familiarized myself with this theory, I am neck-deep in it. If my life is a car, then Acoms is a bumpersticker that I put on the front windshield in my eyeline. It's an air-freshener hanging from my rearview. It's my personalized set of rubber floor mats.

Why then, when there is a dilemma right in front of my face do I wrestle it like a rabid crocodile? I am bitingly intelligent, yet I have these blackout moments of "duh'er" like everyone else.

I have denounced that the culprit is usually love. Like a mongoose and a cobra, love is my natural enemy. Not even particularly bred of innate hatred, it is simply my instinct to loathe it. I am constantly suspicious of its motives, as there is constantly some under-handed trickery at work within its scaly hands. But like most enemies, we spend most of our lives being too wary of each other that time is steadily wasted, and most of the time all for naught. However, the battles are still as fierce and merciless. I choke it to the point of near-suffocation with my bare hands and in return it squashes me from behind like a roaring peterbilt from hell.

Is there ever a point when we will coexist without fiery abjuration for one another? I do not foresee reconciliation or even a cease-fire. I am too covered in battle scars. I want to slice love's throat on national television. I want to incorporate it into the concrete of a sub-level basement for a nuclear weapons factory. I want to push it into the cranking metal teeth of a taffy-pulling machine and watch small children smack it in their little smiling mouths unable to differentiate between the sweet innocence of their candy and the unholy contempt of my homicidal repugnance.

Dear Love,
I Hate You.
I will terminate you, one way or the other.

Current Mood: predatory predatory
Current Music: Slipknot - Vermilion


Abused by Society
Mon, Dec. 13th, 2004 05:07 am (UTC)
...mmm...honey buns

hey baby....smile, smile! I love you, no denying that, and you'll never get rid of me. I got your message, sorry I have 1 min. left on my cell and no phone cards. Johnny is supposed to be getting me a card and some money. he's my lil' hustling man :) Let me know when it will be cool to call. I don't wanna call and you not be around or sleepin'
SO let me know weiner whore. *smooches*

Mon, Dec. 20th, 2004 10:52 pm (UTC)

Hello mrs, trip hop is fannytastic

Baroness Varla
Thu, Jan. 20th, 2005 07:01 am (UTC)

This is true for me, too. When I tell all my psychs that the reason I go to the strip club is because I KNOW why the girls there like me, why the staff likes me. It's because I'm paying them to. I don't have to guess about anything. I can simply live in the fantasy for the time bought & walk out without my heart being thrashed (ok, save one time).

I had no trust to begin with & it's now hit -7. I suppose it's now time to love me. Don't wait until you're nearly 40, baby girl. But I know how hard it is not to become leerily & lustily entwined.